


Mirror room

by migraine_Sky



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Identity, Past Abuse, Pegging, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/migraine_Sky/pseuds/migraine_Sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...But if she was just an external, back-up copy of his self, then would it really be that strange to take over, to play his role for a while, like he suggested?"</p><p> </p><p>Sorry for the mistakes, unnecessary commas and general weirdness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror room

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [bondvillainspromptmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bondvillainspromptmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> Silva helps Sévérine reclaim her sexuality after her life in the sex trade by giving her a strap-on and invites her to use it on him. Can be sweet where he’s assuring her he wouldn't do anything with her he wouldn't have done to him, or rough and nasty where she’s getting her “revenge” on all her johns through him (but he’s totally into it).

The water that was flowing out of the bathtub was still hot and as the water left, the heaviness was settling in her body. She felt as if she would never have the strength to move these resting hands, these heavy hips, unwieldy head – she would remain lying on the bottom of the tub. The remaining foam enclosed her shoulders, like the collar of her white fur coat - a recent gift from Silva. She bought it herself, as was with most of his gifts, he was always too busy. She never wanted furs or jewelry, but she always bought them with pleasure, knowing that he would approve, that he would look at her fascinated as though by some ethereal creature. It was funny how all the things that she was supposed to do for herself were intended for him.

 _I like i_ _t when you show independence, Sévérine._

And so she did, expressing wishes and demands, acting as if on her own accord… but only because every time deep down she imagined his approving nod, his parental-like pride of a child’s first independent steps.

 _To guess_ _and to do what he would have liked her to._

She gathered her strength and moved her arm,slowly slid her hand down the cooling offwet belly. That hazy, uninhabited space that - she knew - was called Sévérine and that she was unable to fill with anything for years now ... Even despair somehow escaped her when she wanted to sink into it. But each time she was in Silva’s presence, his life, his voice immediately filled her whole being and then she had a soul.

The skin of her stomach became cold to the touch from evaporating moisture, and Sévérine slid her hand lower, between the outstretched unmovable legs; but instead of the usual gentle heat the skin was cool there too, and it seemed to her that she was touching someone else's body. A body that always belonged to someone else.

 _"_ _Look at her huge thighs, she’s like a cow next to my petite girls!"_

 _"_ _Some customers like a fat ass – she will be very popular next to your skinny_ _sluts_ _!"_

She became used to be a thing, on a good day - a reward. And now, when for the first time she got to choose her master, he refused her, rendering her body into a useless empty shell. For months she tried to understand his obvious interest in her combined with full detachment, as if she was his sister. What did he want, what was he waiting for? Was it, perhaps, the moment when her body would be her own again? But was it ever?

She could not remember.

But if she was just an external, back-up copy of his self, then would it really be that strange to take over, to play his role for a while, like he suggested?

She glanced at the box standing near the sink. A simple black cube of expensive matte paper tied with a pink silk ribbon. This gift Silva gave her himself.

When Silva took her from the brothel, she dreaded the moment when he would come to her bed, same as everyone else. But he didn’t; and unnoticeably her fear has become its opposite - a painful uncertainty, a thirst for contact. Sometimes he looked at her - he would smile, and she would smile back - but there was no contact. Cold indestructible veil always surrounded her, it didn’t let her touch, didn’t let her feel.

_“You don’t want that. You can’t seriously want that!”_

_“I know what I want and what I don’t want, don’t you think?”_

_“No, you don’t! You're too accustomed to others wanting for you!”_

He spit it out with such anger that she winced. But she couldn’t say who caused his anger. Maybe she just thought that it all would be easier if they fucked, at least the unbearable uncertainty would be gone. This idea gradually became an _idée fixe_ , an obsession, making Sévérine desperate. And even if her place remained the same as it was all her life, at least she would know where she stands. That it is a stand, not a free fall.

She could have acted smarter, could have pretended and seduced him as an indecisive first-timer at a bar or a casino. But whenever Silva looked at her, really looked her in the eyes - she would feel startled and naked, all her thoughts lying bare in front of him. And she knew that if she tried to lie to him, he would be furious.

He said nothing more to her then, just left the room.

And nearly for a week she thought that she had broken some delicate balance, which she had never noticed before. But on Friday they were having lunch at an expensive restaurant like nothing had happened and Silva was smiling at her. At such moments, the months she had spent with him stretched out in her memory farther and farther into the past, covering all previous years, concealing them like a wonderfully decorated façade.

He handed her a box tied with a ribbon – it looked like a package for expensive lingerie or limited perfume. But when she opened it she took out a black strap-on with thin leather harness. She looked at it blankly, although, of course, she knew what it was. She never had clients with _such_ preferences but some of the other girls did. Silva grinned, and she finally remembered where they were and noticing with the corner of her eye a shocked look on the face of some elderly woman at the next table, quickly shoved the gift back into the box.

“What is this?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Darling, I thought, you knew,” Silva grinned even wider.

“Of course I know,” said Sévérine almost irritated. “I mean… why?”

“If I understood you correctly, you wanted to...”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Yes, I just did not expect ...”

“…That I am able to stop being a control freak for a while?” Silva finished for her and she paused and then nodded though it wasn’t what she wanted to say.

 _That you_ _would like to trust me._

 _That I can_ _, that you think I can... That I…_

“Is this something that _you_ want? Or is it because you might have considered me to wish for something like that? Cause I don’t...”

Silva tsked mockingly, as if to wonder, how could she suspect him of such uncharacteristic altruism.

“But you would do it, wouldn’t you? If I say that’s what I want, would you do that for me?”

 

She slowly got up, climbed out of the bathtub. Carefully dried herself with a towel, took a step closer to the steam-blinded mirror over the sink. What is she to do now? Should she get dressed or stay naked, put on make-up or just sprinkle her skin with perfume? She realized, that she had no idea of what he expected from her. Questions like that never bothered her with her customers; and panic began to form up in her throat, a choking wave, black, featureless. She opened the sink tap, as if hoping to wash away that blackness, wiped the mirror with her wet hand. The whitish haze revealed her face – scared and unfamiliar.

 _I look at you_ _and I know who you are. But I'm not sure I know who I am._

Something made her constantly think about Silva and when he was around always pay attention to how he sees her: as if in a room with mirrored walls, she couldn’t escape her own image, brought from outside world. He looked at her so attentively and she couldn’t help but feel this alluring - and somehow oppressive, frightening - charm of herself.

 _Maybe he_ _won’t come? Perhaps he might forget, or be too busy, or change his mind?_

She shook her head. After all, they have often slept in the same bed, lying so close, yet in parallel universes.

She closed the tap angrily, grabbed the box. At least she was never shy. Quiet, introspective, frightened but never shy. She opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the room with no clothes and no make-up, without any protection, taut as a string.

At first, in the soft glow of muted lighting it seemed that there was no one else in the room. But then she felt his presence – even before she turned her head and saw him. He sat in an armchair in the darkest corner lost in his own thoughts, so infinitely far away. Behind him endless rows of windows shone through the huge glass, thousands faceless lives in cramped square cells of their flats. And the numbers seemed to stream in columns like on his computer screen, until it all ended up being a single digit, _one_ , with the blinking cursor waiting next to it. He looked up, saw her and she felt how the familiar nameless entity inside her stirred, began to take shape. But his eyes were empty, unfocused.

On most days Silva was so energetic, so full of vitality, as if a whole crowd lived inside of him. But sometimes this unknown source of energy was suddenly reversing, turning into a black hole, bottomless, capable to absorb everything around it with the same inexhaustible force. And in his dark eyes Sévérine saw how this force was destroying him on the inside, painfully and quickly; and she knew if the outer shell failed to contain this storm and it broke out, it would devour everything on its way.

Hastily she left the box on the edge of the bed, walked to the armchair behind him. Her hands ghosted over Silva’s damp hair that he didn’t bother to dry after the shower, down his neck, over old scars on his chest visible under the half-opened bathrobe. He moved responding to her caress,closed his eyes and threw his head back, pressed it to her belly. She waited for instructions gently stroking him and he was silent; sitting with his eyes closed as if asleep. But Sévérine could almost physically feel the tornado under his skin, the relentless vortex of thoughts.

“What would you like me to do?” finally she said making her voice soft and seductive but it sounded lost.

“You know,” he said quietly, his eyes still closed. “When you put up with pain for a long period of time, there comes a moment when the pain somehow separates from you. It is still there, but already on its own. It hangs in front of your closed eyelids like a cloud made out of something grey and sharp. And you almost feel good, the pain no longer bothers you because you are hiding so, so deep… But each time it becomes harder and harder to come back…”

“Look at me,” her body almost ached with the familiar helplessness, this time growing in someone else’s chest; the mirrors were silent, no one was reflected in them anyone.

“Sometimes it feels - damn, it really feels like – like I'm still in that tiny cell, like I never left,” he went on, not listening to her. “Still there, just closing my eyes tight enough.”

Her hands pulled the robe down from his shoulders, returned to his warm skin, too restless to comfort.

“And the worst tortures that can only be invented - they are all in your head,” Silva tapped his finger on the temple, his eyes still closed. “No one can create fear, or despair ... They are immaterial. You foster them on your own, you torture yourself.”

“Look at me,” Sévérine repeated, and he slowly opened his eyes, dark, frightened, as if they were her own.

 _Don’t let me_ _dissolve into nothingness._

She didn’t know where that idea was born - in her head or in his eyes. She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his upturned mouth and he inhaled desperately, as if just emerging from under the water. And Sévérine felt some faceless need, like a threat which they both had to confront. She pulled him away from the chair freeing him from the bathrobe, pushed him onto the bed. He sat down obediently and she froze for a moment; but he slid to the floor onto his knees, wrapped his arms tightly around her legs, rubbing his face on her skin, inhaling her scent.

Her body suddenly seemed too high to her, she felt towering like a skyscraper - if only she could become smaller.

 _"That_ _girl of yours, you know, the ridiculously tall one – don’t even think of sending her tonight. It’s a secret, but Mr. N hates it_ _when the girl is_ _taller than him_ _."_

She snapped her eyes shut, trying not to listen to the voices of her past, trying to stand still, just hold her breath and wait it out - as she always did. Silva’s hands slid along the inner side of her thighs, urging her to move them wider apart and suddenly Sévérine felt wet piercing heat of his tongue in between her legs. She opened her eyes, not fully present to be surprised, threw a glance down, then closed her eyes again. He caressed her with slow and short strokes, as if experimenting, and something stirred up in her, on its own accord, like a hand rising in a greeting; and it was something completely new to her. She wanted to grab Silva’s hair, pull it hard, push his face closer. But she didn’t move, even when he pulled back and she felt his touch no more. She remained standing with her eyes closed, with her breath coming out in rasps, but otherwise silent, frozen. She felt the touch of his hands again, careful fingers fastening the straps, and she looked down at his unreadable face as he put the strap-on on her. Silva, still on his knees, looked into her eyes, ran his hand over the fake cock, caressing it, and Sévérine thought, how appropriate that was, how perfectly this piece of plastic suited her body, unfeeling and cold.

“How do you want me?” his voice sounded distant but clear; it snatched her from serenity of an inanimate object, made her heart jump with panic. She didn’t know what she should want, didn’t know how to guess what he wanted from her.

“How do you want me?” he asked again absentmindedly stroking her hips, looking at her with feverishly glittering eyes.

“With your back to me,” said Sévérine surrendering, unable to find the answer, to guess his will.

 _"_ _Turn your ugly face away from me, whore, your big ass deserves much more attention ..."_

Silva moved to the bed, knelt down, placed his legs wider, and Sévérine slowly moved after him, her nervousness growing. She wished she could just lie down and stop thinking, hide inside of herself, but she remembered how only a few minutes ago she desperately wanted exactly the opposite. She embraced Silva from behind, slid her hesitant hands over his heaving ribs.

“I'm ready, you don’t need anything…” he breathed out just as she was about to ask about lube, and she hastily pushed him forward to stand on all fours and positioned herself.

Her movements resembled detached actions of a doctor, but as soon as the rubber cock began to enter Silva, Sévérine felt how his body was submitting to her, letting her in – she _felt_ it, as if the strap-on suddenly became living flesh. She slowly pushed it to the hilt, the unfamiliar feeling as if they both were in danger once again washing over her. Silva groaned through clenched lips and the sound pushed her hips, urged them to move back and forward again. He groaned louder, and she toppled onto him, pressed her forehead against his back, damp with sweat. And as she slid her hands over his skin, slid inside of him, soon she ceased to understand where her body ended and his body began. He wanted, and her hips moved, she craved, and he let her in. The mirrors shattered, broken fragments mixed, and she was Silva, as he was her.

“Did you know it? When you took me with you ... took care of me – did you know? That I am your broken reflection, that other _you_ , whom you had hidden deep within yourself… “ her own voice sounded strange and unfamiliar to her, it was his voice, and she wasn’t sure who uttered these words, in what language.

Silva answered her with a short groan when she moved her hips a little harder; moved his arms wider, gasping, shuddering. The heat inside of Sévérine reached its highest point and stopped there, and she stiffened trying to cling to the feeling with every muscle of her body. She moved faster, chasing sweet slippery friction the base of the strap-on created against her clit, her fingers digged frantically into Silva’s skin.

“Did he have a name? What was his name? Tell me, what was his name?” she whispered into his sweaty skin in some delirious state not waiting for an answer; and Silva was moaning loudly meeting her hips with violent, greedy jerks.

In her mind there was only desire, the heat struck her again, overwhelming, unbearable. She pressed herself into Silva’s body harder, clutched his skin with her hands, feeling the nails digging into something soft, as if should their bodies lose contact - and they both would die, bleed to death like torn apart Siamese twins.

Silva gave a small cry and jerked, his hips losing the rhythm. He collapsed on the sheets as he came, and Sévérine slipped out of him and tumbled onto the bed too, trying to catch her breath. She was still holding him, clinging to his side. As her breathing became slower the feeling of her body being her own was returning. She felt heaviness in each limb, but the weight was pleasant in its materiality.

Silva rolled onto his back, with a lazy movement brushed the hair from his face. She rearranged herself, put her ear to his chest, listening.

 

The hurricane was dying away.

 

“Tiago,” said Silva suddenly in a quiet voice. “His name was Tiago.”


End file.
